


A Cursed Mirror

by Impala_Cherry_Trickster



Series: Merlin Prompts [62]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Merlin Needs a Hug (Merlin), Post-Battle of Camlann (Merlin), Powerful Merlin (Merlin), Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26892058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Cherry_Trickster/pseuds/Impala_Cherry_Trickster
Summary: Merlin's Magic is sometimes too powerful for his own good, as the mirror shows him
Relationships: Merlin (Merlin) & Everyone
Series: Merlin Prompts [62]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706692
Comments: 19
Kudos: 177





	A Cursed Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt!

Before Arthur’s death, there were only a handful of occasions where Merlin feared his own powers. The Battle of Camlann showed him what he could do, but his greatest failure had been before such a time.

It began with a mirror. It had belonged to Ygraine, according to Gaius, and was stored down in the restricted section of the Castle. Merlin often brooded over his thoughts there, or practiced his Magic in the hidden depths of the dark. It was where he went after Lancelot stepped through the Veil, sacrificing himself without a shadow of doubt.

He thought back to Lancelot’s last moments, looking back at him with a resignation that Merlin was sure would haunt him till his dying day. The Warlock found the mirror that night, pressed his head to the cool surface and prayed to see his best friend one last time, to be able to apologise.

For all his power, Merlin didn’t expect to see Sir Lancelot when he pulled back. The image was perfect, from the stubble-lined jaw to the kind eyes, to the cape of Camelot that hung around his shoulders. The Knight had worn a surprised expression, reaching out as if he might touch Merlin, but the glass stopped it.

That was the moment Merlin knew his power was too much. Imagining the dead, creating a perfect vision of someone he loved so dearly, it was a far greater pain than he could ever have inflicted on anyone else. Merlin had hurried from the Castle quicker than ever before, fleeing from his own mind, swearing never to look at the mirror again.

When Merlin returned to Camelot, after burning Arthur’s body, the Warlock had nothing left. The hallways were empty, noise was nothing more than a ringing in his ears, and the world tasted bland. The sun no longer warmed his skin, the birds didn’t chirp, flowers wilted away despite the happiness of those that had survived the Battle.

He hadn't just lost Arthur at the Battle of Camlann. He’d lost everything he ever held dear, including his friendship with Gwen. She never did look at him the same, and perhaps that was why he went down to the Mirror. It hadn't moved, nobody dared touch it, and so Merlin finally looked into the murky depths.

He’d expected Arthur. He’d expected Lancelot, and a small part of him was thankful that Gwaine was also there. The Warlock studied Elyan, then looked past all of them and focused.

After all, if this was his imagination and Magic combining, then he should be able to look at whoever he wanted.

When his eyes opened, Merlin let out the breath he had been holding.

Morgana stared right back at him, bright eyes filled with hurt and betrayal and guilt, but it was enough just to see her again. The Knights didn’t seem happy that she was there, tried to push her back and move towards the front, but Merlin turned his back on the Cursed Mirror.

The dead were gone, and he’d do well to remember it.

**

Camelot fell, and Merlin barely had the time to rescue the mirror that had belonged to the last Queen, a woman who could never stand up to the legacy of the Great Queen, his long-lost friend. The mirror was a hassle to drag around, considering his other possessions were quite light, but he figured he couldn’t just leave it.

In the first hundred years, Merlin refused to look at the mirror again. Seeing Morgana had been a cold rush of emotion, the wave of pain that he’d expected from his failure. He was terrified to turn back, to see Gwen or Percival or Leon, to see Gaius. Occasionally, he found himself wondering if his Mother would be standing on the other side, if she was watching him as the mirror made its way through Albion and into new Kingdoms.

He quickly found out that nobody else could see anything in the mirror, not even their own reflection. The conclusion was that he had broken it, somehow, by pushing his magic into it. Attempting to find counsel, Merlin had brought the Mirror to the Lake, only for Freya to take one look at it and vanish.

Since then, he hadn't seen her. Aithusa was wary of it, so Merlin kept a blanket over it, to stop temptation from getting the better of him.

It wasn’t until a stormy night that the Warlock left his small home in the mountains, trekked up the rocks to the treacherous cave that he had placed the mirror in. Outside, the world had been ready to break, thunder rolling over the sky and lightning cracking down, illuminating the worst object Merlin had ever seen.

The blanket was removed, and at the next flash of light, Merlin was greeted with the sight of Guinevere.

She looked beautiful, just as he remembered as the young Queen she had been, rather than the greying woman that begged for his company. Her crown was nestled into dark curls, a gown of red encasing her form as she rose a hand to the other side of the glass. Lips formed his name, but no sound came, and the Warlock returned it.

Instead of warm skin, he met the cool material of the image. It snapped his heart once again, shattered the remaining hope he had been working to build, and his Magic burst free before he could stop it.

Later, the people surrounding the mountains would call it an act of God, the way the tallest peak had collapsed in on itself, sealing the cave that once stood. Nobody saw the strangely-cloaked man that used to live there, but they did find the reflectionless mirror.

**

The next time Merlin saw the mirror, it was as a spoil of War. He supposed it was a sick joke, standing in his newly-acquired Castle with blood slicking his sword and armour, his helmet dented at the side as he took it off. The household trembled with fear, people that bowed before him like he were a man of great strength, rather than a liar and a coward.

The wife of the man that Merlin had killed, an elderly Lady with three daughters and no heir, showed him to the room that would now be his.

In the corner stood the Cursed Mirror, and Merlin was greeted with Sir Leon’s familiar face. The Knight went to smile, something that Merlin expected, but it changed when he saw what Merlin was wearing.

Of course, the Warlock was still dressed for battle. Clearly his mind disagreed with his current occupation, as did his Magic, if it would alter the memory of his friends in such a way.

‘Have this mirror covered.’ He ordered, turning from the room sharply and wondering why his Magic thrummed with power.

**

‘Good morning, Sire!’ The chirpy voice was expected, Merlin groaning in annoyance as he tried to hide from the sunlight streaming over the bed. The noise was rewarded with laughter, the pattering sounds of footsteps crossing his Chambers.

‘There is nothing good about mornings.’ Merlin informed his manservant, Beck, who smirked as he started pulling shirts from the wardrobe.

‘Then why make me wake up to serve you, my Lord?’ It was a good point, and deep down, Merlin was more than aware of why he had a manservant. The Warlock sat up slowly, yawning as he ran a hand through his hair, before pausing when he was greeted with the very same mirror that he’d ordered be kept in the dungeons.

Arthur stared right back at him, but he was not alone. Morgana was there, by Gwen’s side, looking almost like they had when Merlin first arrived in Camelot. The Knights paused in whatever conversation his mind had them making, turning to stare at Merlin like he was the one intruding.

The scene was a forest, thick green trees and a lake that stretched in the background. It looked rather peaceful, like somewhere he’d want to visit, a place where Magic might be bursting free. Magic, the same thing he refused to use, locked away in his bones. Magic that he repressed with every waking moment, for fear of the Mirror that had been created.

‘Beck, why is there a mirror in my Chambers?’ He was more than aware that his voice had dropped dangerously low, that the coldness must have reflected in his tone, for the boy froze mid-movement.

‘I found it down there, I thought… You said you wanted to see the latest mark?’ The boy was, as ever, correct. It was rather frustrating really, to have someone so smart serving him, and Merlin made a note to increase his pay again.

Merlin had indeed wanted to see his most recent wound, made from a sword at one of the more recent battles. No, not Battles. Crusades. A word that made Merlin laugh, for there was nothing Holy about their missions.

‘This mirror is…’ He paused, then changed his mind, ‘What do you see in it?’ Beck snorted, then realised he was serious, and took a step into it.

Arthur’s head snapped to Beck, lips forming words that Merlin couldn’t read.

‘That’s so strange! A mirror without a person!’ Beck began tapping the glass, staining it with little fingerprints that Merlin found oddly infuriating. He rose from the bed, grateful to be wearing loosely-tied breeches, padding across to the boy’s side.

‘For that, you can have it cleaned.’ He was rewarded with a pout, but he ignored it in favour of heading towards the wardrobe.

‘Are you sure you don’t need help dressing, Sire?’ Beck called, already beginning work on the mirror.

‘I’m quite capable, Beck.’

He pretended not to hear the muttered “prat” that came from his manservant.

**

‘It’s… beautiful.’ The Dauphine cocked her head to the side, then looked back to Merlin, who took another gulp from the goblet in his hand.

‘Consider it yours.’ He hated that damned mirror, and everything it stood for. The Princess laughed, clapping her hands together joyously as she traced the edge. Over the years, the mirror had been embellished. Jewels now framed the edges, intricate workings of the most precious metals known to man had been carved in.

At the top, Ygraine’s sigil remained, a reminder of that fateful use of Magic back in Camelot.

‘Are you sure, my Lord? This mirror… it’s a thing of legends!’ He winced, covering it with another mouthful of wine. It tasted far too sickly, awfully sweet as he avoided the people that still haunted him.

‘I find it rather ugly.’ Honesty got him a confused look, before the Princess turned back to the mirror.

‘It looks… magical.’ She breathed out the words with a shining awe in her eyes, a light that he could never hope to quash.

‘Magic’s overrated.’ Merlin informed her, but when did mortals ever listen to him?

**

Smashing the mirror didn’t work. Burning it achieved very little, even when there was nothing left but ashes. It always rebuilt, just as perfect as it had been from the moment he’d made it. No matter where he went, no matter how far Merlin fled, the mirror always came back to his possession.

This time was no different, apart from the fact that the person who had brought him the mirror was the very woman that had stayed away for over a millennium.

‘Freya.’ The Lady of the Lake smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she looked nervously up at him. The Warlock turned his attention to the mirror, dismissing the servants that had told him that he had a visitor.

‘You’re a hard man to find, Lord Emrys.’ She inclined her head, hands clutching at her skirts as she did so.

‘You brought that damned mirror.’ He ignored her use of his title, staring at the horrible contraption she’d dragged in.

Someone had fitted it with wheels.

The very notion made him chuckle, turning away and glancing out of the windows of his country house. Last he’d checked, that mirror had been locked in a Temple in Constantinople. Apparently, not well enough, considering Freya had managed to grab it.

‘It’s time, Merlin.’ The use of the name he’d not heard in hundreds of years had him turning to her, confusion creasing his brow.

‘Time?’

‘You want to see them, no?’ She yanked at the cover, giving him no time to turn his head away.

The mirror wasn’t a mirror any longer. There was no vision of his lost friends, just a rippled effect that reminded him of water. It shimmered, Freya’s fingers dipping into it, and coming back with water droplets clinging to her skin.

‘Freya?’ This time, the name came out as a broken whisper, a confused mess of hope and hurt crushing his chest.

‘Just reach in, Merlin. You need only call for those you love.’

His feet led him before he could try and halt, coming to stop in front of the very object he’d sworn to hate. The hand that he stretched out shook, fingers lightly skirting over the surface of the water-reflection. A gasp sounded, but it had to be his own, for Freya had taken a step back.

‘Let it happen, Merlin. Use your gift.’

For the first time in years, Merlin didn’t try and restrain his Magic. It raced to his fingertips, drove his hand into the water that waited, and Merlin prayed. He wasn’t sure if he still believed in the Gods, but now he opened his heart for anyone that would listen, screwing his eyes shut as he tried to quell the ache that grew every moment his hand was gone.

That damned Mirror, the Cursed Mirror, always showing him a glimpse of things he couldn’t have.

Until the cold water was replaced with a burst of warmth, with the smooth glide of skin against his, and Merlin yanked back on instinct. The force of it tripped him, sent him sprawling back onto the wooden floor beneath his feet, dragging a weight down on top of him.

When a flash of blond and a muffled grunt of annoyance came from the weight, Merlin was pretty sure his heart had stopped beating.

Blue eyes met his, confused and angry and full of the same love that he’d seen in those last precious moments, the last time he’d ever felt like himself.

Suddenly, his Magic didn’t feel so dangerous.


End file.
